She is spare, as a sparrow, small and trembling— all angles, and bone, and tongue, thin skin, the endless desert of inattention staggering toward the mirage of touching. And you warned her… but you kissed her, regardless. “It won’t mean a thing,” you promised. “Yes, yes, I understand…” all words are merely translations of sly [...]
Read More» Posted by Isabell'a-muse | 0 commentsThere are no more Jonatha Brooke songs to be sung about how I will leave the light on. I will not leave the light on. The grainy gray of your face illuminated everything. I am hungry for better men. You had me. Lovely. Brown eyed. Wild haired. Sweet skinned, sharp angled, exotic kitten. You had [...]
Read More» Posted by Isabell'a-muse | 0 commentsI take another hit of this Where’s Waldo red minivan shit, exhale Happy Birthday to the man who is dead. Raise a toast to the memorized face whose lines are forgotten; the stale poem with arrhythmic inflection, an affliction of battle scars criss-crossing delicate parts unguarded. His benediction is given in Spanish flamenco, a staccato [...]
Read More» Posted by Isabell'a-muse | 0 comments
He was doing something technical. Explaining the process as he went. Poking graceful fingers into the belly of the machine, plucking at the long strands and loops of intestines, which weren’t intestines at all but rather wires that had been banded together. Red, orange, black—they terminated in white tips with silver pins. They plugged into [...]
Read More» Posted by Isabell'a-muse | 0 comments